


Halo: Full Circle

by Corey-067 (Aliit_Netra)



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 15:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17962781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliit_Netra/pseuds/Corey-067
Summary: A troubled relationship between Spartan-IIs and the UNSC forces they fight alongside needs to be overcome so that they can turn their attention toward a far greater threat.





	Halo: Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> TWs: Violence, blood, some injury detail.

"So, you're one of Halsey's freaks?" A full squad of ODSTs was between him and the door, each one of them smaller than him. The Spartans weren't difficult to spot, he was only twenty years old, but their bodies had a set to them that hinted at the years of intense training they'd undergone. There was a boxing gym aboard the ship, but after an incident with John after their augmentations, it was recommended that they didn't fight with anyone other than their own. That arrangement was fine with Corey. Most of the Marines he'd sparred with seemed to have something to prove and were incredibly sore losers.

"Nothing gets by you, does it?" Blue eyes shone as a smirk crossed his lips, the Spartan analyzing their postures and allowing himself to find his calm center. They had him cornered, outnumbered, and alone. "If you leave now, I won't end up having to explain to your CO why you're in the medbay."

The Marines laughed. The Spartan joined their chorus and patiently waited.  
"You're nothing without that fancy armor, boy."

Corey didn't watch his body, but his face, the way his jaw clenched, his eyes flickered left, then right, assessing Corey's physique. He turned, maybe sixty degrees away, and lunged. Corey had studied marine hand-to-hand, all of the Spartans had. This was more akin to a drunken brawler's strike. It was as though it happened in slow motion, that first blow, but it was all he needed. His entire life was a fight for survival, and this moment was no different for him.

He planned no counter, no follow-up strike; he did as his subconscious willed, as fourteen years of training more brutal than any Marine had endured. Corey-067 ceased to be, at that moment; instead, he became the weapon that he was born to be. His hand came up as he lowered his center of balance, striking the outside of his attacker's wrist to force his momentum further around, all the while taking note of the other ODSTs moving in to surround him.

He was going to take hits; it was inevitable. He accepted this and allowed for the pain. His leading hand came up to strike at the squad leader's unprotected side when one of the others grabbed at his arm. His momentum was cut short, and his lip curled into a sneer as he relaxed. The Marine yanked him backward with far less resistance than expected, and while they stumbled, Corey avoided taking a strike from one of his fellows. As they bumped the wall, the Spartan made his first sudden move, though to him it was telegraphed and slow. He snapped his head back, hard, the impact sending his vision wobbly as his skull impacted with the Marine's nose, and he felt the blood as it hit the back of his neck.

To his credit, the ODST kept hold of him, pinning his arms in such a way that the Spartan couldn't use his superior strength to break free. Using his body weight to hold him back, the other Marines closed in quickly. Blows rained down on him, and things looked as though they were going very badly for Corey. His eyes never stopped moving, lightning quick mind analyzing the patterns of their motions, how each of the soldiers meshed their approaches so that the unit wasn't tripping over one another. He felt the skin below his right eye split, and then the Spartan decided that it was his turn. Tensing his arms so that the Marine at his back couldn't release them, he used the other soldier as a brace, throwing power into his legs to spring him from the ground.

The world moved in slow motion for him. Any reasonable fighter in that situation would've landed the soles of both heavy boots into the squad leader's chest with as much power as they could muster, sending them flying back. As the Sergeant came in for another strike, however, a new possibility opened. Forcing his legs open, Corey twisted his weight, bringing his calf muscles either side of the unfortunate Marine's neck. Had this man been an Innie attacking him or another Spartan, he'd have snapped his neck without a second thought, but this time Corey allowed his weight to drop into his hips, twisting and tossing the squad leader into the second Marine attempting to land a blow. The Marine behind him lost his grip, and the Spartan hit the ground, spinning to take out his legs. Rolling clear, Corey got to his feet, a chuckle escaping his bloodied lips as he stretched his shoulders.

"My turn." The Marines were fast, but they weren't a match for a Spartan. For the most part, Corey just kept turning them into one another, throwing them off of their rhythm. The irritation the squad felt was palpable, not at all helped by the fact that Corey kept filling the space with blood splattered laughter. He'd intended on simply wearing them down until they gave up, but something switched in his mind when he caught a flash of electricity from a humbler baton in his peripheral vision. He changed from defending to going on the offense in an instant, not even stopping to check what the threat was. The offending Marine came close, and Corey let loose with his enhanced strength, disarming him by snapping the bones in his forearm. It was clumsy but effective. His foot found the side of the Marine's knee, and the older man crumpled like wet paper.

He was a whirlwind of strength and pain, and when one of the marines clouted his back with one of the wardroom chairs, he staggered forward, turning on the Marine as most of his squadmates climbed back to their feet. Grabbing the chair in mid-swing, the Spartan slammed him into the nearest wall. The chair still pinned him, but Corey wasn't going to let it go there. He let fly with his fist, only to find it come to a halt, inches away from the Marine's face.

"That's enough, wouldn't you say?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it penetrated his consciousness like a blow to the face. There was only one person who was fast enough to catch him like that, and she stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder until he relaxed.

"As long as they don't take issue with the furniture arrangements again, I'll not have to mess them up." His adrenaline was still high, and another voice cut in.

"Well, I doubt they're going to protest in front of all of us. Let's help get them to medbay." John sounded almost weary, the number of times they'd had to deal with confrontations by UNSC personnel was beyond a joke, though the Marines - particularly the ODSTs were the only ones to be physical about it. He knew that they didn't like, trust, or understand the Spartans, but they were Helljumpers. They should've known better than to attack fellow soldiers.

"I'm sorry, John. I'll take full responsibility with the Captain." Corey murmured, his tone soft. Kelly clapped him on the shoulder as she passed, helping one of the Marines up. He hadn't realized, but he'd broken the Marine's leg. He moved around him, lifting him with his arm around the soldier's waist, carefully cradling the broken arm with his other hand while Kelly braced his weight on the other arm.

John shook his head, knowing that the performance of the Spartans was his responsibility, but as the ship's AI had informed them, Corey had only been defending himself. The security feeds would confirm that, too.

He visited them every day, checking to make sure that there were no complications, but as he'd come to expect, the UNSC's doctors were some of the best around, and their injuries were relatively minor, all things considered.


End file.
